


And Learn to See

by Corinna



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Never Met, Fashion Designer Kurt, M/M, New York City, Teacher Blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1241338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinna/pseuds/Corinna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt has a store cat, a few loyal celebrity clients, and a retail clerk who’s a little terrified of him. He doesn’t want for anything. Until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Learn to See

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to pene for beta help, title suggestions, and general encouragement on this one.

On a tree-lined block of Elizabeth Street in Soho stands a quiet boutique with a simple sign out front. _Kurt Hummel, Men’s Clothing._ It’s been there for over ten years now: one of a few high-end boutiques on this block at first, now surrounded by flashier neighbors, stores with big plate-glass windows facing the street and no one behind the counter who could tell a half-Windsor from a four-in-hand. The sort of people who shop in those stores might peer in the window at Kurt Hummel, but they keep on walking. Which is fine with Kurt Hummel, men's clothing designer.

He’s made a name for himself with the sort of men who understand fashion, and who are willing to pay for top-quality work. His clothes appear in _GQ_ and _Esquire_ just often enough to keep new customers coming in. He’s got a store cat, a few loyal celebrity clients, and a retail clerk who’s a little terrified of him. He doesn’t want for anything.

“It’s so romantic,” says Angus, the store clerk. He’s still sighing over the couple who came in to get matching bowties for their wedding tuxedos. It’s all they can afford: the tuxes themselves will be rentals. Kurt tries not to shudder at the thought.

“It keeps the doors open,” Kurt shrugs. The overall profit is smaller, but he gets a bigger markup on ties than he does on shirts and pants.

“You’re the worst,” Angus says admiringly. “Don’t you like weddings?”

“From a business perspective, yes. They’re wonderful to design for. And you can jack up the prices.”

Angus shakes his head. “Well, when I find Mister Right, you’re going to make our suits at cost, right?”

Kurt just looks at him, which is answer enough.

* * * * *

Kurt has a seamstress on the payroll, a Polish woman named Stacia who works for him three mornings a week, but most of the sewing gets done by him. He keeps his inventory small on purpose, but it’s still a lot of work, and it’s not getting any easier. One afternoon he feels a twinge in his lower back, and he realizes he’s been bent over the detailing on this jacket for two hours. Time for a break. He gets up, stretches, and walks out from his office in the back to the main store area. There’s a little espresso machine out there, and he could use the pick-me-up.

Sam is there on the couch drinking coffee, the way he often is when he’s not working. Kurt doesn’t mind; Sam’s a good guy, and it’s not like having a model hanging out at the store is bad for business. Angus is helping a customer by the ties. Kurt makes his own coffee, talks with Sam for a bit, and wanders back to the counter in time to see Angus ring up the customer’s purchases. Two bow ties and a pocket square, each a riot of color and pattern. The pocket square will work with either tie, for a man fashion-forward enough to risk it. Kurt finds himself impressed with the man’s taste.

“Good choices,” he says.

“Thanks,” says the man. He’s got on a madras jacket in blues and pinks and a green bowtie. His hair is brushed back in a ridiculous Cary Grant hairdo that emphasizes the gray coming in at his temples. He should look like a walking punchline, but it works. Maybe it’s the smile, or the clear bright brown eyes. “Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Kurt tries not to smile. “My name’s Kurt.”

To his credit, the customer understands his faux pas immediately. “Oh! Oh, wow, Mr. Hummel, wow. That’s embarrassing. I’m a big fan.”

“Then you can call me Kurt.” He still loves the idea that he has fans. “And you are...?”

“Oh. I’m Blaine Anderson. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Angus has finished writing up the receipt, and Kurt hands the bag across the counter. It’s got his name block-printed on the side; Angus does the printing when the store is slow. “Come back next month for the spring styles.”

“Count on it,” says the man, and he’s gone. Sam nods at him as he leaves.

Kurt goes back to his work, but that customer, Blaine Anderson, stays on his mind. His handsome smile. Those strong hands. He’s not usually so attracted to men so close to his own age. Clearly, Kurt needs to get laid.

* * * * *

Blaine Anderson, it turns out, is on his way to becoming a Kurt Hummel regular: he’s been purchasing ties and pocket squares about once a month for three months, and he’s bought one button-down short-sleeve shirt. Kurt looks over his records in the order system and makes a note to tell Angus to work on the up-sell with this one.

The next time Kurt sees him, a couple of weeks later, Blaine Anderson is shopping the tie rack again. “I know you said to come back next month,” he says, “but I couldn’t get this tie out of my mind.” He picks up a bowtie with a small-scale pattern of flowers on it, little pink buds blooming across silk.  

“It’s a favorite of mine as well,” Kurt admits. “It just feels like early spring. I know that’s cliché, spring and blooming flowers...”

“No,” Blaine says, “I think it’s lovely.”

“Would you like to look at something else?” Kurt is charmed by this man, and his sales patter goes to hell. “Um, like a shirt or something? The winter line is on sale.”

Blaine tries on a pair of blue wool pants, and he comes out of the little dressing room to see himself in the big mirror.

Sam nods approvingly over his macchiato. “Those work for you, man. Really good for your butt.” Sam has been in the fashion world so long, he wears his heterosexuality lightly. Perhaps too lightly. Kurt winces. “Um. But not in a gay way, necessarily.”

“Believe me,” Blaine says, twisting to see himself, “me and my gay butt are happy for the compliment.”

“Rock on,” says Sam, and just like that, somehow, they’re friends. Kurt will never understand male friendships; his friends still all tend to be women. But he doesn’t mind when Blaine becomes another regular hanging out at the store.

He’s a teacher, he tells them, at McHenry, a local private school with an arts focus. It’s prestigious enough that even Kurt’s heard of it, and he avoids children. Blaine teaches music to the little kids and leads the high school choir. He lives in Nolita, not far from the shop, and he’s planning on spending the summer learning how to play the cello. He’ll likely end up spending a bunch of it drinking iced coffee with Sam and petting the store cat instead.

* * * * *

After a long cold winter, May has put a little lift in everyone’s step. Kurt starts hooking up with a boy from FIT. Sam’s dating another singer.

“She’s going to dump you,” Kurt tells him. “They always do.”

Sam just shrugs.

“Maybe you could branch out. A dancer?”

“Things must be really bad if I’m taking love life advice from you, Kurt.”

“Hey!”

“No offense meant, man. But it’s not like you’re the poster boy for long-term relationships.”

“That’s intentional,” Kurt tells him.

“What’s intentional?” Blaine strolls in wearing plaid purple pants and a light grey sweater.

“Kurt’s love life,” says Sam. “Which is kind of a disaster area.”

Kurt rolls his eyes as he stands up for another shot of coffee. “Hardly. Just because I don’t spend my time vainly searching for some mythical true love, doesn’t mean I don’t have a perfectly satisfying personal life.”

“I get that,” Blaine nods. He’s so sensible. “But it’s sort of limiting, too. I mean, I’ve had plenty of bad relationships. Going right back to my high school boyfriend. But that doesn’t mean --”

“You had a boyfriend in high school?” Kurt is impressed and a little envious.

“It was a pretty progressive school.”

“I just had bullies.”

“And crushes,” Sam adds. He makes a really unsubtle gesture indicating that he’d been one of them.

Kurt sighs. “Fine. Yes. At sixteen, I fell in 'love' with every boy who was even marginally nice to me, up to and including the waterboy on the football team. When I was eighteen and I made it to New York, I realized that what I’d thought was love was actually years of repressed adolescent male sex hormones, dying to get out.” There’d been a few failed attempts at romance in there too, a few guys he’d thought of as potential long-term partners before he realized he’d been fooling himself, but they aren’t worth mentioning. “Now I date, or I hook up, and it’s nice, and it’s fun, and I don’t pretend it’s anything it isn’t.” He shrugs. “One of the advantages of being gay, Sam; a lot more opportunities for sex without someone trying to make it all _mean_ something.”

“He’s right,” Blaine says. Then turning to Kurt, he adds, “But I’m sorry about the bullying.”

Kurt wasn’t expecting that.

“I transferred schools after I came out. Went to one with a pretty strict anti-harassment code. And McHenry, we have out gay and trans kids as young as ten. I forget sometimes how hard it can be.”

“That’s all right,” Kurt says. “It was a long time ago.”

Still, they end up talking, and eventually Sam slips away, off to the gym or wherever. The next time Blaine comes in to the store, he peeks his head in at Kurt’s office, asking him if he wants a coffee, and Kurt comes out to join him, his sewing still in hand.

* * * * *

It’s the middle of June, and they’re already having a few really warm days. School has let out at McHenry, and Blaine's around more afternoons than he's not. Kurt thinks about mentioning the cello to him, teasingly, but he doesn't want to make him feel unwelcome.

One afternoon, Kurt brings out his latest find. "I saw this at the fabric store," he says. "I thought it would make the perfect tie. But I need to see it to be sure." He holds up the bowtie, freshly sewn and pressed. It's a thin pastel stripe, but still unmistakably a rainbow.

Blaine smiles delightedly and tries it on. It suits his coloring, and goes well with the black polo he's wearing. "I love it. I wish I'd had it for the school concert."

"I only found the fabric on Monday,” Kurt apologizes.

“No, no! That just means I can wear it next year.” Blaine makes a face. “That is -- if it’s for sale?”

Kurt shrugs. “Call it a gift.”

“Really? Thank you.” Blaine turns back to the mirror and admires his new possession. “It’s perfect. I’ll wear it to Pride.”

“Don’t lose it at your afterparties,” Kurt warns. He fixes Blaine’s knot so it’s perfect. “I’ll make you pay for the replacement.”

“I'm way too old for the afterparties. I'm going to a brunch with a view."

"I hope you still have fun."

"Oh, I will."

They smile at each other knowingly.

"Well, thank you,” Blaine says. “I'll treasure it."

The door opens and a new customer walks in. Kurt nods at her in greeting, and Blaine turns back to the mirror, admiring his new possession.

"You _like_ him," Angus whispers.

"Oh, please," Kurt scoffs.

* * * * *

Summer hits the city like a hammer. Sam has work in Paris and Milan. Blaine still comes by, though less often. “Might as well use your air conditioning, if it’s going to be on,” he says. He and Kurt talk, out on the couch or back in Kurt’s office. They talk about life, about work, about the dates Blaine goes out on and the FIT kid Kurt is fucking. Then Kurt ends things with the FIT kid, and so he and Blaine discuss clubs and bars, and where to go to dance that won’t give you a migraine.

At the end of July, Blaine goes off to Martha’s Vineyard for two weeks with his parents. He’s been looking forward to it for a while; he loves to sail, and he’s been worried about his dad since he broke his ankle over the winter. Kurt talks a lot with him about fathers, and worrying about them, usually back in the office, or at the coffee shop down the street after he’s closed up the store for the night. He’s glad Blaine gets to go, but with Sam and his other regulars mostly out of town as well the store feels empty, even when it’s busy. He feeds the cat and hides in his office.

“You _miss_ him,” Angus says.

“It’s been a long time since I had a gay friend my own age,” says Kurt. “That’s all.”

“If you say so, boss.”

Kurt schedules Angus to work all of Labor Day weekend, because he can.

* * * * *

Over Labor Day, and a few days after, Kurt goes out of town himself. He stays with Rachel out in Los Angeles, in the spacious sun-filled home she shares with her husband and her kids and her personal assistant. There’s a big sun umbrella waiting for him by the pool, and he sits on a lounge chair and sketches with a glass of lemonade close to hand. It’s heaven.

“Sweetie, they’re gorgeous!” Rachel likes to say that she’s his only womenswear client. It’s been a long time since she’s needed him to make her a dress, though. She flips through his sketches, admiring the lines. “So classic American, but still you. Brooks Brothers boho chic. Can I get those shorts for Alexander?”

“They’re just concepts,” Kurt says, taking back his sketchpad. Brooks Brothers? Maybe he needs to rethink things. “I’m not sure I’ll take them any further.”

“Well, you should. I think it’s a breakthrough.” She claps her hands excitedly. “I know! We’ll go to Mozza to celebrate your continuing artistic evolution.”

Kurt drinks too much at dinner, and thinks about telling Rachel everything, but he’s not sure what there is to tell.

* * * * *

Kurt doesn’t show at New York Fashion Week. Even if there were menswear shows, which there aren’t, it’s not something a little boutique like his would ever do, and after his years of apprenticeship at _Vogue_ and Stella McCartney, he’s grateful to be spared it. That he can keep his business small, and local, and exclusive, and still make the payroll and the rent some days seems like a minor miracle. Of course, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy the trappings of Fashion Week. Particularly, he likes the parties.

He’s had a party at the store every year since it opened. The first one was just Rachel, Sam, a few former coworkers and Isabelle Wright. They’d gotten tipsy on champagne and performed show tunes. Now it’s enough of a madhouse that they have to clear out half the racks and all of the furniture. The cat complains at losing the couch -- so does Sam, but he helps Angus rearrange things anyhow.

On the night, it’s craziness: there’s a bartender, and cater-waiters, and a playlist that a DJ who shops at the store made for him. He’s shuttling between old friends, valued customers, industry people, and fashionistas, trying to make everyone feel welcome and interested in buying.

There aren’t enough cute boys this time, but they’ve got quite a few pretty girls. He makes a note to ask Sam why he didn’t bring more friends. Scanning the crowd, he sees Marc from _WWD_ , Sheng from Racked, and Chase, who’s somehow still at _Vogue_. It’s a good turnout. And then he spots Blaine, who is heaven in a vintage Thom Browne suit. Of course he’s impeccably tailored, and the suit is perfect for him. He looks so handsome and so charming and so -- god, this is really not good. Kurt remembers what this feels like now, being hopelessly and stupidly in love. He’s so screwed.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, and he finishes his drink.

Luckily, Angus is too busy with the hors d’oeuvres to notice anything.

* * * * *

The school year has started again and Blaine’s too busy to come by the store much. Kurt torments himself with visions of Blaine meeting some sweet and brilliant new guy at McHenry. Blaine had been dating one of the Spanish teachers when they met, a serious blond named Patrick, so it isn’t even a huge leap. Kurt embroiders satin-stitch hearts onto pocket squares and tries not to think about it. He knows how he gets.

Instead, he gets highlights and manicures and an anti-aging facial. He switches from Pilates classes to the more challenging Physique 57, even though it means trudging over to Seventh Avenue. He makes himself a fitted vest that emphasizes his still-slim waist, and he wears it on a Thursday when he thinks Blaine will be in. It’s been a very long time since he was a pretty nineteen year old turning heads in the Vogue.com hallways, but he’s a long way from hideous too. Blaine dates guys closer to his own age than Kurt typically has. Maybe he’ll notice Kurt too, now that Kurt’s trying to be noticed.

“You’re looking good, man,” Sam says. “Working out?”

“Kurt always looks good,” says Blaine. He doesn't look up from his phone. “It's like part of his job description.”

“It's part of mine too,” Sam says. “Doesn't mean I don't like to hear it.”

Angus, wisely, says nothing.

“Hey, do you guys want to come to my cello recital?” Blaine looks up. “It's next week.”

“Recital?”

“Yeah, I've been taking lessons. I told you about it.”

“I remember,” says Kurt. “I didn't realize that you'd kept up with it.”

“Oh, I'm full of surprises,” Blaine says, and he winks. Kurt's heart leaps.

The night of the recital, Kurt pulls together a fantastic outfit -- all his own work -- and heads over to the Brooklyn arts space where they're performing. Blaine plays a Bach cello suite, and it's beautiful. Kurt knew he was talented, of course, but it's a different thing to actually see it. He sits and listens and tries not to focus too much on Blaine's strong beautiful hands.

There's wine and cheese afterwards. Kurt watches as Blaine chats with his cello teacher, who's a handsome curly-haired blond. They touch each other a lot as they talk, and Blaine’s smiling. Kurt's stomach eats jealously at itself as he nibbles on some Brie.

But then Blaine finds Kurt in the crowd so they can leave together, just the two of them, and they walk to the subway arm in arm. Kurt feels warm in the fall night air.

Blaine, ever the old-fashioned gentleman, insists on walking him to his apartment building door. Kurt's heart is in his throat as he asks, "Would you like to come up?"

Blaine frowns, confused.

“I mean. For a drink. If you'd like.”

“Kurt...” Blaine takes his hand.

“I just thought. If you wanted. We could be good together.” God, he's so terrible at this.

“Kurt.” Blaine looks serious and apologetic, and Kurt's heart is already breaking. “I really value our friendship. I don't --”

“No, that's all right. Me too. I mean, I'm really glad we're friends, Blaine. It was just a thought.” He pulls back his hand. “Thank you for a lovely evening. See you soon?”

Kurt makes it all the way up in the elevator and into his apartment before the tears start to fall. It's been nearly twenty years since he cried over a guy, and it hasn't gotten any less awful.

* * * * *

He puts his energy into his work, the way he always has. There’s the sketches he did in LA, but he can’t move forward with them now; there’s too much of Blaine in them. There’s something worth saving there, though, an inspiration worth following if he can find his own voice inside of it. So he works. He draws till his hand cramps, and he experiments with muslins. He walks through the fabric stores and haunts M&J Trimmings, looking for signs in the long rows of buttons and ribbon. His head is on fire with ideas in a way it hasn’t been in a long time, and he lets the energy of that carry him. He can stay friends with Blaine without it being weird, because his thoughts are somewhere else; they’re in the work.

He eats delivery Thai noodles and skips workouts, and he falls asleep on the couch only to wake up and work for a few more hours before he goes in to the store. He doesn’t even want to spare the energy to go get laid; there are a couple of no-strings hookups, but mostly he’s got some lube and his right hand, and that’s enough to get him off and put him to sleep when he needs it to.

The collection starts to come together -- slowly, torturously, but he can see it. There’s something of Blaine’s queer preppy aesthetic left in the clothes, but some of his dad and the guys at the garage too, and all of Kurt’s own experiments with color and texture and form. He revises and re-pins and he pushes himself. It’s past what he knows his customers want, past what he’s sure will sell. He’s making these clothes for himself, as a part of himself, and it’s healing. Being who he is at the end of everything will always be what keeps him going.

Angus is taking a fashion retail course at Parsons, and he asks if he can set up a trunk show for the spring line as part of his classwork. Kurt says yes and immediately stops thinking about it.

* * * * *

The week of the trunk show finally comes. Kurt’s fine with letting Angus arrange everything, but he demands final say on the order in which the looks walk, and he does all the alterations himself. Sam agrees to wear the final look, which makes Kurt happy: even a guy as preternaturally young-looking as Sam Evans is going to have to bow out of model work eventually, and it’s nice to get to work with him one more time.

The night of the show, Angus shoos him out of the store for an early dinner. He goes down the block to the little Italian place, where they feed him a simple plate of fish and some white wine. He’s more nervous than he expected, both for himself and for Angus: he doesn’t want to cost the kid his grade. Good retail help is hard to come by.

When he comes back, the shop has a row of chairs along each wall, making a sort of runway in between them, and in the back there’s a thick black velvet curtain covering the wall and the door back towards his office. There’s wine and bottled water at a table near the front window, and the lights have gone low and friendly. Kurt goes back into the office area, which is contained chaos: skinny boys shrugging into clothes, hair getting done off in a corner, a giant pile of shoes that Kurt doesn’t even want to think about where they came from.

“It’s all under control,” Angus tells him, his eyes wide and shell-shocked. “Don’t worry.”

Kurt pats him on the shoulder and tells him it’s all going to be fine.

The guests start arriving, and Kurt’s impressed: the kid did a good job. There are a few bold-name clients Kurt hasn’t seen for a while, some of his peers and competitors, and some of his most loyal friends. There’s Blaine, dressed in Kurt Hummel clothes head to toe in a sign of solidarity. They’re still good friends, of course, and it’s nice to be reminded of it. Then a few musicians he knows that he’s never dressed come in, and Robin Givhan, and Scott Schuman, and who knew that Angus knew so many people? Kurt swallows hard and goes to shake hands.

When the track of spotlights that Angus has somehow acquired go on above the runway, Kurt greets the crowd officially and then has to go backstage. Angus's latest boyfriend is videotaping the whole thing, but Kurt can't help peeking out from behind the velvet curtain to watch his clothes move. It's too dark to see the faces in the audience to gauge their reactions. But that doesn't matter so much, not tonight. These clothes are who he is right now, all the things he's been and felt. His heart is walking the runway. When Sam goes out in the final look -- a Black Watch plaid suit with a pink brocade vest -- Kurt knows he's done what he set out to do.

When the applause starts, he doesn't even need to go out to meet it. He's happy where he is, soaking in the moment. Angus has to push him past the curtain. The applause gets louder as he steps out, blinking at the bright spotlights.  Sam hugs him so hard that he lifts him off the floor, and Sam’s laughing, so Kurt has to laugh too.

* * * * *

The after party happens seamlessly. Kurt reminds himself to find Angus's professor in the crowd and encourage him to give the kid an A. Scott Schuman is out front, taking sidewalk photos that may be on The Sartorialist as soon as tomorrow. Kurt swallows a grin and goes to work the room.

"Kurt, man," says Ben Thompson. "Great stuff. Can I order that polka-dot shirt with the pockets?"

"Absolutely," Kurt says. "Oh, that's going to look great on you." He waves over Angus, who's already clutching the order book.

"Boss..."

“Take the order, Angus,” Kurt says, and goes on to continue mingling. He keeps catching Blaine’s eye; there’s something quizzical in Blaine’s expression, but each time Kurt tries to go talk to him, he gets waylaid by new admirers. Not that he minds, exactly.

Robin Givhan puts her hand on his shoulder, and for a moment Kurt can’t breathe. The only fashion critic ever to win the Pulitzer Prize, and she’s here in his store. “That was remarkable work,” she tells him. “You should be proud.”

“I am,” he tells her. “Thank you so much, that’s very flattering.”

She gives him her card and tells him to send her the look book, and he has to turn away before he embarrasses them both with his delight.

The party eventually winds down, and the whole thing is done by midnight. Kurt’s sitting on one of the fold-up chairs from the show, with his feet up on another one. He’s drinking the last of his wine and surveying his kingdom. It’s pretty damn great.

Angus comes out of the office with a worried expression and the order book.

“Don’t be worried!” Kurt tells him, swinging his wine glass emphatically. “I spoke to your teacher and I’m pretty sure you’re acing that class.”

“It’s not that,” Angus says. He pulls up one of the chairs to show Kurt. “We... I think we did too well tonight. Is that a thing?”

Kurt looks through the orders they’ve taken. They’ve sold out almost the entire collection, and there’s a waitlist for the brocade vest in eggplant. No one outside the audience has even seen these clothes yet, and if they all sell now, he’ll need something else to put in the store until the summer line’s ready.

“I’ll call Stacia,” he decides. “Maybe she knows another seamstress who can help.” He doesn’t want to mass-produce, not by a long shot, but maybe it’s time to consider carrying a little more inventory, if the business is there. He flips through the orders. “Jack Antonoff? The musician? How on earth did you get Jack Antonoff here?”

“Oh,” says Angus, “his kids go to McHenry. He’s one of Blaine’s.”

Kurt is almost achingly happy. He makes Angus pour them both a little more wine, and they sit in exhausted silence together, the echoes of the successful evening still in their ears.

They eventually manage to stand up and finish stacking the chairs for the rental company to pick up in the morning. They’re getting ready to lock up when there’s a knock on the front door of the shop. It’s Blaine, and he looks worried. He must’ve forgotten something in the crowd.

“See you in the morning,” Angus says, and he slips out the door when he lets Blaine in.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks.

“Kurt, I need to talk to you,” Blaine says.

“Okay.” Kurt sits back down on the couch. They’d never found each other at the party, and from how serious and nervous Blaine looks, it seems like they’re going to have whatever conversation Blaine had wanted to have now. “What’s up?”

“Tonight was amazing.”

“Thank you.” Kurt’s honestly pleased, and it’s almost enough to cancel out the worry Blaine’s demeanor is causing him. “I hear you played a part in that too.”

“What? No, no. I invited a few people who I knew liked clothes. That’s all. It was all you, Kurt,” Blaine says. He sits down next to Kurt, and he’s so intent. “And really, it was. It was you.”

Kurt waits.

“Those clothes you showed tonight, they were a revelation. I knew you were talented, but it felt like I was really seeing _you_ for the first time, and it was -- it was amazing, there’s no other word for it.” Blaine shakes his head and smiles a little, like he’s still dazzled by the memory of it. “Those clothes, and what you were saying with them: they moved me, Kurt. You moved me. And I’ve been walking around the neighborhood for hours because I can’t get you out of my head.”

He takes Kurt’s hand. Kurt is speechless.

“I know I’m being an idiot,” Blaine says. “And I probably missed my shot with you because I wasn’t ready, but --”

Kurt doesn’t need to hear anymore. He puts his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and he pulls him in for a kiss. It’s heaven. Blaine sighs a little against his mouth and then kisses him again, more deeply and more sure. Kurt’s never been kissed like this, by a man so certain of what he’s doing and so sweetly patient. It’s undoing him almost immediately. He runs his fingers along Blaine’s jaw as they pull apart, a promise to Blaine and to himself of more to come.

“Oh,” says Blaine, and his eyes are bright and clear and happy. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you forever.”

 


End file.
